


To rest

by A_Quiet_Place



Category: Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Friends to Lovers, M/M, One Shot, Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 22:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13820661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Quiet_Place/pseuds/A_Quiet_Place
Summary: A thinly veiled excuse to practice writing smut. Superman has outlived most of his friends, he is continuously brought back to life to fight, despite there being a new generation of heroes to take his place. His only solace is meeting Bruce again.





	To rest

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, just my depravity.

He's died so many times now that he's started treating his time away from the living as a vacation. The scars of his deaths are numerous but invisible-- crossing over his heart and mind like a jigsaw of mistakes.

There are replacements for what he does. The younger generation of super heroes are already fighting, already capable. But still, they bring him back.

He is sure he is well past his natural life expectancy. Most of his human friends have grown old and died-- let their children take over the family business, retired, or moved planets. Lois had grown old and passed on, their children strong and finding their own way through life.

But not Superman.

He had tried retirement. He had tried locking himself away from the world, but always there was a new threat that called him back into action. Always there was some reason he had to turn and fight once more-- spill his own blood, protect his home planet.

The monsters and villains that came seemed to get stronger, faster, smarter. And so, now and then, Superman would die.  
  
But it was never forever.

Three generations on and they were still bringing him back. Sometimes there was a large gap in between-- ten years or so while they hunted down his remains or fought of some alien species to reclaim him. But inevitably he would walk the earth again, a little wearier than before.

At some stage they even managed to bring back his youth. He has the vague recollection of a pool, like that of Kryptonian make, and jumbled panicked thoughts. It was like being lost in a dream.  
  
Clark wept, but not out of joy.

Maybe they will never let him go. Maybe whatever he gives to save the planet he has grown up on will never be enough.

He often thinks about permanent death in times of great peril. The notion flicks through his mind as a weapon is flung his way, or an explosion the size of the moon detonates beside him. Will this be his true death? Will he get to leave at last?  
  
The answer has always been no.

Maybe he just misses his friends.

Maybe not seeing them in death scares him more than eternal life.

At least alive he has his memories-- tethered by monuments and graves, so that he knows he hasn't finally gone mad enough to have made it all up.

He stands over the Wayne family now; the dim light of dusk illuminating the stonework of Bruce's grave. Clark's head bows in silence, his mind awash with the man who has been his greatest ally and dearest friend. The man who stood by him and relentlessly protected all that he loved.

Clark grimaces, his mind already racing over Bruce's final moments, his photographic memory leaves no detail out.

Bruce grew old, leaving his legacy to his adopted children, and theirs after. With stubborn determination, the first Batman lived far beyond what anyone had expected. And when he died it was in his bed, old in body and mind, surrounded by the people who had known him best.

Clark was heartbroken. Is heartbroken.

Memories dip around him like echoes, reminding him with a touch or a whispered word spoken so many decades ago. Fragments of the people he loved and missed fettered to him along with regrets and longings.

He sucks in a deep breath and begins to tell Bruce all he has missed. He tells Bruce that he is still fighting, he hasn't given up, not yet. He tells Bruce that he hopes he has made him proud, that he misses him.

He stands there until the grief of loss takes hold of him once more-- as fresh as the day of Bruce's funeral.

He is surrounded by people of this new era, friends and family, but there is a degree of separation that he can't seem to shake, it makes him distant to others, his smiles small and painful.

He wonders how much longer he can go on.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It's no more than a week later that he's called into the newest justice league headquarters. He's prepared for another briefing to fight off another megalomaniac villain-- to deal with the horrible torments they have in store. He isn't prepared to see Batman. His Batman-- standing in the middle of a crowd of his descendants and admirers fully suited, jaw grim and posture firm.

Clark feels like the world has fallen out from underneath him. It's hard to breathe, his chest constricts and his heart begins to hammer painfully.

Distantly he hears that Batman has come through from another dimension-- another time and place. But it is still Bruce, Clark can sense it, running though his body like a tremor. The bearing, the set of his jaw and calculation in his gaze. It is a Bruce that Clark knows-- perhaps from a slightly different path in life.

He feels himself move forward and his breath hitches when those steel eyes lock onto him. Everything else in the room falls away and he finds himself parting the crowd with little thought. He doesn't stop until he stands in front of Bruce. The tide of emotion flooding him is overwhelming. It catches in his throat, threatening to break loose in a wretched sob.

It's Bruce who speaks first, and Clark is helpless.

“I didn't think I would see Superman, again.” That low tone is enough to spur Clark into action. He registers the words secondary to the impulsive action he takes. With inhuman speed Clark steps forward and hugs Batman, crushing the slightly shorter man to his chest with firm arms.

The room falls silent. Bruce is tense against him but makes no move to push him off-- which is for the best because Clark doesn't think he can let go.

He's dimly aware of the room emptying and of Bruce's impatient shifting beneath his arms. A gauntleted hand pats his shoulder awkwardly and Bruce is speaking again.

“It seems it's been some time for both of us. But I'm not him, Clark.” His tone shifts into a soft rumble, Batman's version of sympathy.

Clark finally steps back just enough to give Bruce space to breathe. He can't take his hands off the powerful body and as he speaks he finds himself gripping the black armor to assure himself that this is real. “I know. But you are close enough.”

When Bruce's mouth twitches, ready to respond, to push Clark away with his words as he has always done, Clark is ready. He presses his lips to Bruce's to silence him-- a sudden and impulsive move that startles them both. Batman turns rigid, but Clark persists, gently cradling the stern jaw in his hands until Bruce relents.

Their kiss is slow and sentimental at first but quickly becomes emboldened-- building up like and electric charge.  
  
Clark can't believe he has waited over a hundred years for this.

When they finally part, it's to allow Batman time to breathe. Bruce pants, eyes fixated on Clark in determination to have himself be heard. “I can't stay.”

Superman nods but doesn't let go. Instead he finds himself unceremoniously carrying Batman out of the Justice League without a word.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Bruce's heavily toned body goes taught like a bowstring. His back bows inward forcing his heaving chest off the bed. Beaded sweat slides from his fever-hot skin and into the damp sheets, while both his hands clench the linen above his head until his fists are white and shaking with the strain. His usually stern mouth hangs slack as the breath rushes out of him in heavy gasps.

His head is thrown back-- dark, damp hair slicked to his forehead in unruly tufts. His steel blue eyes are rolled back in his head, pupils blown wide and unfocused. His muscular stomach is splattered with his own spend. He's come so many times he must be on the brink of exhaustion, but Batman doesn't give in so easily.

He's so beautiful like this, Clark has to use all his restraint to not lose himself completely. Instead he barely chokes back a sob as he drives his cock into the pliant form beneath him, aiming for that one spot that makes Bruce's already strained body shudder with pleasure.

The moan that slips past those usually composed lips shakes Clark's composure to the core.

He's had Bruce for hours, driving his lust into the scarred body of his best friend over and over. He doesn't want to ever stop but he knows he can't last. His body is aching for release, aching to fill Bruce up, to mark him from the inside. Still, he forces himself to hold on that little bit longer.

He doesn't know if he will ever get a chance to do this again and he wants to keep going; he wants Bruce to feel him for days, to remember how it felt to have Superman fuck him into the bed. Judging by the way Bruce's thighs grip his hips and squeeze him when he thrusts in, he wants it too.

Clark's muscles bunch as he slides in again-- Bruce's swollen hole greedily accepting everything he has to the hilt, forcing a moan out of both of them. The sound of Bruce's frantic pulse fills his ears as Clark leans in, his hands gently cradling the broad and stubborn jaw. He kisses swollen lips and groans as he slides home once more, breathing hot and hard against damp skin.

He sets his hips to a languid pace to match his kiss. He wants to feel every silken drag of flesh against his own, every clench of muscle and throbbing heat. He's driving himself crazy with Bruce as the catalyst, but he just needs a little bit more, a little bit longer.

Bruce lets out something close to a whimper, a sound so unlike him, that Clark pulls back from the kiss to check that he hasn't hurt the writhing form. The pain he is expecting is absent, instead he sees an expression that nearly knocks the wind out of him. Bruce is desperate, those lust drunk eyes are fixated on him now in fevered urgency. The hands that were buried in the sheets come loose and grip Clark's shoulders so tightly that if he were human, his flesh would be torn and bruised.

“Clark!” Batman's growl sends a bolt of pleasure right through him.

It causes Clark's cock to throb heavily inside the ring of muscle it continues to slip in and out of.   
  
“Clark, please, I can't-.”  
  
Clark silences his plea with another kiss, and carefully slides his arms under the heaving body, pulling it closer as he grinds himself inside again. He breaks the kiss off when Bruce lets out a shuddering groan, and smiles against those bruised lips.

“Once more Bruce, I know you can.” Clark murmurs gentle encouragement, carefully and relentlessly rubbing against that delicious little lump of nerves inside his lover.

It might be considered cheating to vibrate that part of himself, but he's rewarded with a choked gasp and a full body spasm as Bruce lets go of his self control. He comes dry, dick twitching between their bodies, head thrown back in a mixture of ecstasy and agony. The scream that leaves Bruce's throat is violent and hoarse.

Clark's lips latch onto the pulse point at Bruce's throat and his tongue presses against salty skin, chasing the wild staccato of his heartbeat. It's when Bruce's muscles contract around him, milking him in the throws of his pleasure, that Clark decides he can't hold out any longer. His own vocal cry mixes in with Bruce's as his hips frantically thrust, trying to force the ropes of seed as deep into Bruce's body as they will go.

He sees stars. The pleasure is so intense his hands barely remember their own strength. He clutches Bruce to him carefully, shaking with his restraint.

Their shuddering bodies collapse together into the sweat soaked sheets. Bruce is breathing so heavily Clark listens for the man's pulse to make sure that he hadn't just over done it and fucked Batman to death.  
  
His reassurance is hearing Bruce's frantic heartbeat slow into a steady metronome. He lets out a shattered laugh, satisfied that there is no danger. He wont have to explain anything to everyone waiting for them.

He carefully pulls his softening cock out from between Bruce's legs, and rearranges himself at the exhausted man's side, the grin on his face is so broad he thinks it might crack his jaw. He hasn't smiled so wide for so long that it feels like he's fallen back in time.

Bruce lays completely still aside from the rising and falling of his chest. His eyes are shut, his muscles lax with weariness. The sweat of his body catching on the sharp edges of old scars and the rounded curve of muscle. In this exact moment, he doesn't look like the feared Batman at all, he just looks... like Bruce. His Bruce.

Clark is so taken with the image that he reaches a broad hand out and drags it along the battered chest in awe, the muscles flex weakly under his palm. He finds it so mesmerizing he almost misses the fact that Bruce has passed out. Clark's eyes widen in alarm, but then as realization hits him, a dark blush runs over his cheeks, his smile struggles to humble itself even as Bruce's eyes flicker and force themselves open.

“Not one word.” Bruce's voice is thin, like he can't muster the energy to put any real force behind it. His steel eyes take stock of his surroundings, before they slink back behind heavy eyelids. “I can feel you smiling.” He rumbles as Clark continues to run a hand over his chest.

The comment only makes Clark grin wider still, but he obeys the order for silence, mostly because he can't trust himself to speak just yet.

He watches Bruce fall asleep, allowing his hand to rest over the steadily beating heart. The mirth in his face slowly fades into a moment of serenity before that too slips into a distant sadness.  
  
He wants Bruce to stay, more than anything. He wants to have the joy of watching Batman try not to give away the aches and pains caused by their night. He wants to watch his seed leak from Bruce's body, and be allowed to fill it back up.

It is laying there watching the man he thought he would never see again, that he makes up his mind. When Batman goes back to his world, he will go too.

He feels a new lease of life in the wake of his decision. He can keep fighting, he can keep living. He will do it all again, so long as he has Bruce with him.  
  
And when that time is over, he will finally rest.


End file.
